Visiting Sins
by PadawanMage
Summary: Colonel Tigh has a problem that he knows he has to deal with eventually, but on a quiet walk to confront some of the things he’s done, he helps himself by helping another who has his own problems.


**Title:** "Visiting Sins"

**Rating:** PG-13

**Summary:** Colonel Tigh has a problem that he knows he has to deal with eventually, but on a quiet walk to confront some of the things he's done, he helps himself by helping another who has his own problems.

**Author's Notes:** I wrote this on a whim because I wanted to see if the two characters in this fic could interact. I'm not sure how well I pulled it off, but since we don't have that much to go on in terms of Tigh's character, I made a lot up so it he might be out of character for now.

Thanks again to Lona for her exemplary beta skills.

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_Even though the whole goddamn world's been destroyed, there's still the inevitable paperwork to be done..._

Colonel Saul Tigh snorted at the paperwork haphazardly strewn across his desk. Requisition forms, service updates, patrol reports...the list went on. Tigh leaned back on his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He grimaced painfully as the beginnings of a headache began to dance around in his sinuses. Gingerly he touched the large bruise still evident on his cheekbone and winced when a minor kaleidoscope of fireworks erupted behind his eyes.

One more thing to thank Kara Thrace for...

Gritting his teeth, Tigh couldn't stop a small sliver of raw anger at the blonde Viper pilot. Getting punched was one thing; getting punched in front of the rest of the pilots did not help his standing with the others. Even sending her to the brig didn't help. She'd been there so many times, Tigh wondered if the guards had a plaque over her favorite cell.

_You _did_ knock over that table, though,_ said a small voice in his head.

Saul closed his eyes and shook his head. Of all the times for his conscience to rear its ugly head...Maybe I did, he thought. If only she didn't laugh like that. It was a laugh that smacked too much like his wife's. Of course it had set him off!

_Because you lost the Pyramid game...or because you lost your wife?_ the voice retorted.

Tigh groaned and put his head in his hands. He didn't know who'd said it, but that old saying about an idle mind being the devil's playground was definitely true! The way he was going, the ship's counselor could write whole articles about him.

Marshalling whatever strength he had, Tigh took a deep breath. Unfortunately, the first things his eyes fell on when he looked up were the still-incomplete reports, which he angrily pushed away. He wouldn't be doing any work tonight. His eyes, seemingly on their own accord, slowly slid across the desk to a small table nearby.

The bottle of whiskey still stood there, waiting. He had tried to throw it away, especially after Thrace's tirade, but he had pulled it back out and put it on the table.

_I should just drink it all now_. _Lords know there probably won't be anymore once I'm done._

His hand wiped his lips, and swallowing, he moved forward to grab the bottle.

_You're weak._

He stopped just short of the bottle. Slowly, painfully, his hand clenched into a fist and began to tremble. Jerking it back Tigh cradled it in his other hand.

Kara had had the stones to say that to his face, even after he'd tried to clear the air between them. She had sarcastically and arrogantly thrown it back in his face. She really did not know when to shut up.

He looked over at the bottle sitting there on the desk. He could imagine his father having no qualms about finishing a bottle this late in the night. If his father were right here with him, he'd saunter over, pour himself a healthy glass and raise it in salute:

"Here's to you, Firefox...here's to you, son," he'd say in the same mocking tone, and then he'd down the glass in one swallow.

Tigh cursed silently. He hadn't consciously thought of his father in Lords knew how long! Only when he was in the worst of a drunken stupor would he gaze into a mirror...and see his father staring right back at him. At that point, he'd try and drink more to forget. He had only been a kid when the son-of-a-bitch had taken off with that young skirt and left him and his mother to fend for themselves. The things he did remember about his father weren't the most pleasant: late night arrivals after being gone for days, breath that stank of whiskey, regular beatings of either him...or his mother.

Tigh had never cared much for using statistics to justify his problems, but he'd often wondered if his less-than-perfect marriage –not to mention his drinking – were merely reflections of what he'd had to put up with as a kid.

That was one of the reasons he hadn't wanted kids: he hadn't wanted even a chance of history repeating itself. Before he had married Ellen, he had laid it right out to her how he felt about bringing up a family. She'd acquiesced, but, looking back on it, he now saw that she had merely hoped to change his mind later on. Time and again she'd brought it up, and time and again he'd politely – but firmly – shot it right down.

Ellen had become so frustrated with his mulishness that she had started seeking 'diversions' in other places...and with other people, just to spite him. Things would've been so much easier if she had simply asked him for a divorce. But, she'd kept right on sleeping around, and had had no qualms whatsoever about rubbing his face in it. Tigh wouldn't have been surprised if she'd even gone so far as to post indecent pictures on the Colonial Net. The worst part about it had been when his friends had actually gotten wind of what his wife had been doing and had taken pity on him; _that_ he couldn't stand. Only Will Adama had stood by him and helped him through the worst of it. Even so, when he had started drinking to dull the pain of the divorce, he had seen his father raising a glass in salute and saying, "That's my boy."

Looking down at the unfinished paperwork and then to the bottle still sitting on the table, Tigh knew he wasn't going to get any work done. He got up, quickly put on a sweater and walked out of his room, not bothering to look back.

--

It was about midwatch as Tigh aimlessly roamed the corridors. He didn't know or care what time it really was since around this time that the ship was at its quietest. Galactica had represented Caprica in the Colonial Fleet, so it followed that planet's nocturnal patterns. Currently, the lights around the ship were dimmed, not only to conserve power but also to give the crew a sense of 'day' and 'night'. Though the ship never truly slept, crew activity in the corridors was at a minimum, which was fine with Tigh, since he was in no mood to talk to anyone.

He walked wherever his feet took him and was not really paying attention to where he went. It was with some surprise he looked up and noticed that he'd walked to the area that led to a gantry overlooking the port launch bay. Tigh cursed his subconscious, which apparently was intent on bringing him to a place ripe for self-flagellation. He really didn't need this, he thought. Turning around he started to walk back. After only 4 steps, though, he slowed down and stopped. He looked over his shoulder and gazed at the hatch leading to the bay.

Tigh sighed, closing his eyes. After the nuke strike, he'd never gone down to see the devastation, not just from the Cylon missile but from the venting to stop the fire as well. There hadn't been any time what with the jump to Ragnar and the loading of armaments from the Anchorage, not to mention the hasty jump afterwards deep into unknown territory.

Now that things had more or less settled down, he realized that he should at least check out the area. This was a good a time as any and a small part of him thought that there shouldn't be a lot of personnel in there at this time of night. The last thing he needed was to cause another incident. Although with the flight crew, and how they currently felt about him – Tyrol's glare at him was an example – it might be considered justifiable homicide.

Taking a deep breath, he turned the latch to the bay and went in.

---

Even from where he stood high above, Tigh could see sections of the bay were blackened and scorched. Power had been lost to some parts and he could see crews working with portable generators to light those areas where Vipers were being fixed. Even the area he stood in had only a single light, for which he was slightly grateful since it meant he couldn't be seen up here.

A small noise – a creak – and Tigh looked to the right at the far end of his gantry. He frowned as he made out what looked like a small pair of legs hanging from the walkway. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, they widened slightly. A small form sat looking out into the chaos of the bay.

_What the hell?_

He slowly walked over and was surprised to see a young boy sitting on the gantry, legs hanging over the side and his body pressed on the horizontal safety bars. Tigh wondered how long the kid had been sitting there. It must have been several hours since the kid looked tired as he yawned several times, not to mention he failed to take notice of Tigh's approach.

The boy quickly perked up at something he saw below. Tigh followed his eyes. A Viper was being slid into one of the launch bays, its pilot and ground crew going over checklists. It could've been his imagination, but Tigh thought he heard the kid sigh. Numerous safety regulation codes flashed through Tigh's head and he knew he had to get the kid out of there, before something happened. Coming up to the kid he cleared his throat as loudly as possible.

The boy's head snapped up and he gasped. Tigh tried to keep his voice light yet firm.

"You know you're not supposed to be here, kid," he said.

The boy looked crestfallen and merely nodded. Tigh knew, at that moment, that this was not the first time the kid had been caught here. The boy got up from his perch and stood next to the XO.

"Sorry, sir, I was just watching the Mark III's take off," he said quietly.

Tigh's eyebrows raised a notch. "No harm done, although isn't your family missing you now?" he asked quietly.

The boy's brown eyes lowered a bit and he swallowed. "No...not really."

Tigh frowned for a moment and then, eyes widening in realization, he almost slapped his head at the callousness of his statement. Before the war, no children had been allowed on the Galactica unless they had been escorted from one place to another. The last thing they had needed at that time was to have some Minister's kid lost among the miles of passageways of the Battlestar. Saul remembered the report he'd skimmed over from Lt. Sharon Valerii about her harrowing flight which had involved making an emergency landing on Caprica, taking off to rendezvous with Colonial One and the rest of the growing fleet, and then finally meeting up with the Galactica at the Ragnar Anchorage. Somewhere along the way, several children as well as some lucky survivors had been allowed to return as well. Captain Helo had decided to give up his seat for Dr. Baltar and stay behind with the survivors on Caprica. Although Baltar was instrumental in finding that Cylon agent and that device in CIC, there was still something about the man that nagged Tigh. Saul looked back at the blonde-haired kid.

"My family was back on Caprica," the young boy said quietly. It probably wasn't meant as a jab, but Tigh still had to wince a little at his own heartlessness.

_Sometimes, Tigh, you can be a real asshole!_

Saul coughed. "Who – who's taking care of you?" he asked.

The boy shrugged. "I came with Lt. Boomer, but then she had Chief Tyrol set me up with a small room. After that...I walked around and later on found her with the other pilots." He looked forlornly around. "But I couldn't stay with them too long. I didn't have anything to do or read, so I wanted to watch the Vipers."

Saul looked at his watch. "It's kind of late. Maybe you should head back to bed?"

The boy sighed. "I've been trying to sleep but...every time I close my eyes..." He looked down, blinking rapidly.

Tigh, embarrassed, looked away, not sure what to do or say. _We've all got out personal hells, kid,_ he thought morosely. He tried to think of anything else to say that would steer away from the dreary topic when he perked up remembering something the kid had said earlier. He looked down at the Vipers being worked on below them.

"Why do you say they're Mark III's?" he asked. The boy looked up and frowned slightly.

"Well," he started, walking back to edge of the gantry and pointing to one of the sleek planes. "That's obviously the electronic warfare blister just below the cockpit, which, I'm pretty sure, was one of the differences between the Mark II's and III's."

Saul was mildly impressed at the show of knowledge. Not too many people knew the differences between these early models of Viper.

"Well, not to burst your bubble, kid, but those are actually Mark II's. The blister is the laser targeting pod."

The boy's frown deepened and he said a little defensively, "I'm sorry, but I built models of those things and those," he pointed again, "are Mark III's."

"Well, I'm sorry too, but I flew those things and I know them inside and out."

"You flew those things?"

Tigh, somewhat mollified, nodded. The boy's frown got even deeper.

"How old _are_ you anyway?"

Tigh's expression fell from his face. "A hundred, kid..." he said with a roll of his eyes. The boy tried hard not to laugh, but a slight giggle did escape his lips and Saul couldn't help smiling a little himself since he didn't think the kid was actively being malicious.

"What's your name?" Tigh asked him.

"Boxey," the boy replied, with a grin on his face. He thought for a moment and then put out his hand.

Tigh looked at the smaller hand for a moment before taking it in his.

"Tigh, Saul Tigh," he said, shaking the hand. A noise from the bay made both their heads turn. Down below a tractor was positioning a Viper for launch. Crew members in different color jackets checked all around before leaving the launch tube. A heavy door came down and locked in place. A moment later, the sound of something super fast racing away echoed through the bay. Even where Tigh stood, he could feel the receding vibrations of the Viper under his feet.

For an instant, his eyes lost focus, and he remembered what it was like to fly a Viper: him and his ship, nothing more. There were definitely no complications with flying, especially in time of war. The basic tenet was always the same: kill or be killed. He sighed, missing the sheer simplicity of it all. It took a moment to realize Boxey was trying to ask him something.

"Excuse me?"

"You said you used to fly those Vipers," Boxey repeated. "Why aren't you still flying?"

Tigh grinned ruefully. "I got promoted."

Boxey was a little confused at that, but said nothing. He chewed his lip a little before looking back up.

"I – I don't suppose we could...maybe...get a look inside one of those Vipers?" he asked, but when he noticed the expression on Tigh's face he added hastily, "You know, so we could make sure they're Mark II's or III's!"

Tigh wanted to give an emphatic _No!, _again thinking it went against every single rule in the book against civilians – not to mention children – being allowed on the flight deck. Then his mind drifted back to what waited for him back in his room: the paperwork...the bottle...the memory of his father toasting him as he threw back a glass of whiskey. He thought it over as he glanced out into the bay. The kid wouldn't be by himself and he would be acting as escort. Although attack was always a possibility, there was only a slim chance of it happening within the next few minutes.

_Bill will probably think I've gone crazy...or wonder if I've started to mellow out._

He looked down at Boxey, who had an expectant look in his eye, and jerked his head to the stairs heading down.

"C'mon, kid."

---

When they hit the main deck and saw the devastation up close, Tigh had to swallow hard. Even Boxey's enthusiasm seemed muted as he looked around as well. Tigh walked along the outer edge of the bay, on the off-chance that if someone did attack the ship, he could quickly get Boxey out of here.

As they walked through the bay, Tigh could see more than one crew member look up from his or her work and glare. Yeah, they knew him all right. Boxey thankfully was oblivious to the tension in the air.

"Can I help you, sir?" asked a small voice from behind. Tigh and Boxey turned and standing there, in dirty coveralls, was one of the many specialists that worked for Chief Tyrol. Her brown hair was tied back and she had grease smudges all over her jump suit and face. She looked coolly up at Tigh, though when her eyes flickered to the boy, they softened a little.

Tigh cleared his throat. "Yes, we'd like to quickly look over one of the Vipers, preferably one that's not being worked on or that's not on the flight line." The girl was about to open her mouth, probably to say something about regulations, when she caught Tigh's pointed look. She followed his eyes as they surreptitiously went to the boy and her own widened a bit in comprehension.

"Well...we do have Captain Adama's fighter right over there," she pointed to a corner, where the said Viper sat. Privately, Tigh was amazed even that much had survived, especially considering how shot up it had been as well as how it had come in, attached to Kara Thrace's fighter and all.

Tigh nodded and guided Boxey over to it. As they got closer, it was evident the damage was a lot worse that they'd seen from down the hangar bay. One engine was almost completely gone, scoring was evident throughout the whole hull and one of the wings was bent way out of shape. In any other time, it would've been scrapped for junk. But, times being what they are, they had to work with what they had.

Tigh and Boxey circled around so that the wreck was between them and the rest of the bay. Following Tigh's pointed finger, Boxey saw that it was indeed the laser-targeting module near the cockpit. He sighed and then looked back up at his escort.

"Think I could sit in the cockpit...just for a second?"

Saul rubbed the back of his neck and wondered if he was truly going nuts. He glanced around and noticed no techs were close.

"One second, kid," he said with a raised finger. "And that's all!"

A ladder was already near the cockpit and Tigh quickly showed Boxey how to get in. There was no power at all to the plane and all the fuel had been safely offloaded, so there was no chance of either an accidental ignition or an explosion. Gingerly, Boxey sat in the seat, eyes taking in every switch and dial. Tigh looked around, watchful for any techs that might be coming their way. He counted to ten and looked back down, ready to say it was time to go...but then stopped.

Boxey was leaning a little forward and holding on to the control stick. Ordinarily, Tigh would've raised a fuss right then and there since whenever any kid got his hands on anything resembling a game console, they often played around.

This, however, was different.

Instead of moving the stick this way and that, the boy held it steady. It was held with something few kids his age showed: respect. Whether it was out of respect for Tigh, or respect for the Viper as a weapon, he couldn't tell. Boxey held the control gently but firmly, seemingly knowing that although it was a grounded bird, it still represented something to be handled with caution. But it was the boy's eyes that really stopped Tigh short. Gone was the youthful enthusiasm he noticed when the boy talked about models and the different versions of Viper. In its place was a cold determination as he stared right through the cockpit. Tigh could well imagine Cylon Raiders being tracked in the kid's mind. Even with his own tired eyes, Saul thought he could see the beginnings of possible Viper pilot here. It both gladdened and saddened him. He was glad because he had no idea when they'd get to this 'Earth' that William knew about (he'd been meaning to ask Bill about that, but somehow seemed to be always sidetracked). But it saddened him as well since he knew that for Boxey would have to give up what was left of his youth to what awaited him.

_Damnit_, thought Tigh, _kids like you shouldn't be worried about flying a Viper. You should be interested in videogames or slumber parties or maybe even girls..._

He sighed. Maybe all that would've been so in a perfect world. But this was hardly a perfect world. They were on the run, with limited resources, in uncharted territory...they had some hope, sure, but for now, they had to work with what they had on hand. It was a cold way at looking at things, but for now, it if it meant the betterment of the fleet in the future...

To stop any further dismal thoughts, Tigh quietly coughed. Boxey snapped out of his reverie and gazed up to see Tigh looking pointedly at his wrist chronometer. Sighing, he nodded and reluctantly got out of the cockpit. As quickly as possible, they both exited the bay, but not without a few pointed gazes in Tigh's direction.

_I know I'm going to catch some kind of hell for this, but at the moment, I don't care._

-------

As the hatch closed behind them, Tigh looked from one dim corridor to another.

"Which way is your room?" he asked. Boxey pointed and both started down the way. There was no threat to the boy as far as Tigh could see, since there was nothing like crime on a Battlestar, but he felt that if someone was walking with him, the kid might feel better. They had continued for a while, occasionally passing a crewman or two when Tigh noticed they were coming close to his own quarters. As they passed that section, he slowly stopped and glanced over with a thoughtful look in his eye.

Boxey walked for a few more steps until he noticed he was alone. He looked back at Tigh was a slight frown.

"Mr. Tigh?"

But Tigh had a hand up. "Give me a second." And with that, he walked down a hall and disappeared. Boxey stood there for several minutes, until Tigh came back carrying a bundle. He looked slightly embarrassed when he handed over what turned out to be several books.

Boxey's eyes widened in wonder as he looked over some of the titles: _Maintenance Manual for the Sienar Systems Mark II Viper_, _Basics of Space Combat Maneuvering_ and _How Combat Evolved: from Colonial to Cylon_ to name a few. Smiling, Boxey looked up at Tigh, who looked a little nonplussed.

"I...um...know you mentioned you had nothing to read, so I thought you could spend the time reading these." Boxey started leafing through some of the old books and Tigh cleared his throat. "They're a bit old, I know, and they're not like that series of books I think you kids are reading these days...the one with that kid who goes to that wizard school, I think? But it's better than nothing."

Boxey still said nothing but started to walk, seemingly knowing where to go even though he was completely absorbed in what he was reading. Tigh shook his head in amusement as he followed. Eventually, they came to a Boxey's quarters. Still in his own world, Boxey turned the wheel-lock and started to walk in. Shrugging, Tigh turned around and started to walk back to his quarters.

"Mr. Tigh?"

The XO stopped in his tracks and looked back to see Boxey looking at him.

"Thank you," he said quietly. Tigh merely nodded and Boxey disappeared into his room. Saul stared at the space where the boy was several moments before and then chuckled wryly.

"Who would've thought?"

Still shaking his head, he made it back to his quarters. With a final turn, he locked his hatch and looked back at the desk. Unfortunately, his paperwork hadn't finished itself. Sighing, he sat down and started to prioritize what had to be finished now and what could wait till morning. He grabbed his pen and put it down on the first page to make some notes but he stopped before making any. His eyes were still looking down at the spot where his pen rested then they slowly turned towards the table next to his desk.

The bottle still sat there, waiting.

Slowly, Tigh put the pen down and leaned back in his chair, thoughtfully rubbing his chin.

_Have one on me, son._

Tigh's eyes narrowed and he got up from his desk and grabbed the bottle. He looked down at the wastebasket and back at the bottle. He then looked to his right and something caught his eye. He walked over to a cabinet and pulled a random drawer open. Carefully, he placed the bottle in there and pushed it shut with a sigh.

_Not tonight, dad_.

**-FIN-**


End file.
